Rising and Falling
by Asteraceae
Summary: The Sons, in an effort to launder money, turn to the world of fixed horse races. Brave jockeys, glamorous high rollers, shady bookies, charming Irish trainers, and the constant flow of money and adrenaline and the need to win... it's a world where the horses are almost human but the humans behave like animals. Kozik/OC
1. Chapter 1

"So, are we all agreed?"

Clay eyeballed the members sat around the table. The mood in the room was tense, tight; the silence drawn. It always seemed to go like this: two steps towards something legitimate, dragging the club out of the shadows, before it inevitably spun back into chaos. Into anarchy, Jax supposed, finally breaking the tension with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed, cueing for the atmosphere to ease a little. Shoulders relaxed, chairs were leaned back into. Only Happy, as ever, remained visibly unchanged. Opie looked drawn and tight, but he always looked that way. He had since Donna died.

The issue at hand was how to launder money. The shop was coming under scrutiny since several known associates' sojourns to prison, so that was out, along with Cara Cara. Arms deals were still occurring, so while they were deliberating for the past few weeks, the cash was slowly piling up into a mass that they couldn't do anything with, short of buying groceries and gas cash in hand for the rest of their lives. Suggestions were bandied around, before settling on the universally least objectionable: fixed horse racing.

After all, the horses didn't care, did they? They already knew the Cacuzzas were involved in it- stereotypical, the mafia being involved with fixed races- and prison was a small fish tank, everybody knew the bookmakers done up for fraud or racketeering or whatever it was called. Kozik didn't care one way or the other, really; he was too easy-going to get hung up on morals like Jax and Opie, too laid back to love the madness like Clay and Tig. He felt that way sometimes since he patched over to Charming. They were all brothers, sure, even with the bad blood between him and Tig, but he felt like there were crosscurrents under his feet that he wasn't involved in and didn't want to be, anyways.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Clay speaking. "There's a guy one of our guys inside put us on to, apparently he's never gone in because he never gets caught, he's that good. Vince Delfino, they say he's a rat but if he's our rat, well…" Clay shrugged, flashing his smarmy, sheepish grin.

And what a rat he was. When they met him a few days later, in the back room of a nondescript office in a nondescript strip mall in Lodi, Kozik already pitied him. He blinked a lot, which Kozik thought was nerves until he figured that no, the guy was just permanently twitchy and ill at ease. He was reedy, hunched at the shoulders, and smoked almost non-stop. His hands constantly moved, while he explained things at about 500 miles an hour to them.

"...that's the DRF, right? It's given on every track, it's what every bettor looks at first, even if they can't understand it." A little head toss back with a little annoying chuckle, halfway to a scoff. "So they take the pace against the speed when they look at the horse, but they also gotta know a little bit about the horse and where he comes from, right? But a lot of them don't take into account the track bias, because they figure hey, it's California, it's all dirt track, it'll all be the same, so they start letting things like turns slip because they don't look at th-"

He was cut off short by Clay leaning right over the desk, getting right up in his face, like it was going to intimidate him. This guy was beyond intimidation. His brain seemed to be on another planet, one that revolved around DRFs and pace against track bias against speed.

"So you falsify the betting slip? You say we bet before the race, make it look like we don't know who was going to win?" Clay clarified, starring Vince right in the eye.

"Um, yes. Well, yes, um. Yes. I do," he said, ashing his cigarette, taking a draw, ashing it again. "I do. Yes. And then, um, I take fifteen percent."

Clay stared at him. Jax stared at him. Kozik stared at him. Bobby stared at him.

"Fifteen?" Jax said in a voice that was low, and dark, and had more than a hint of a threat if he cared to pick it up.

"Yes. Yes, fifteen," Delfino said, stubbing out his cigarette, twiddling a pen, adjusting his glasses, then tapping out another cigarette. "Look, it's high, I know, but I'm not going to lie I'm the best at this," head toss annoying chuckle cigarette drag ash "and, yes, it's high, and I'm sorry you feel that way, but this is how the decimal points are moved and it's really a tricky thing, to make it without being obvious, let alone past the auditors and stipendiary stewards, so there's really a reason it's high, right? And to be honest, I'm sorry, but it's higher for most guys, most guys on their own looking to cheat the system, work the odds, and I'm lowering it because you guys are going to move some serious bulk. So it'll take a while, right? Which is why it's lower, and"

It was obvious at this point that he had lost the room. Obvious to everyone but him, which is how, somehow, amazingly, Clay agreed to his fifteen percent and his timeline, then walked out of that nondescript office looking like he wondered what the hell just happened.

"Did that just happen?" Jax wondered as they got to their bikes. Clay shook his head, still looking dazed. "Yeah, it did," he said, and Kozik was convinced he would go back in there and punch the bookie until he lowered his fucking fifteen percent if it weren't for the fact that he would have to listen to him.

"We should send Gem in there to negotiate with him, she'd screw the little shit sideways," Bobby grumbled.

"Nah," Tig drawled, fastening his helmet and starting his Dyna. "He can talk his way out of anything. She'd walk back out agreeing that fifteen was fair and even give him a thanks for not charging more. I don't know how he does it."

So that was how it went, for a while. Cash turned over, though it never seemed like anywhere near quick enough, in fits and spurts into everyone's bank accounts. Kozik saw Delfino every now and again, when Clay or Jax decided they needed to intimidate him to make sure he wasn't screwing them over, mostly with Happy. And every time he walked back out after listening to the guy ramble for thirty minutes, and he and Happy agreed that they'd just say it was all good.

Cash came, sweetbutts came, the road came. Kozik still felt a little like he was floating, even when he fought, which was usually his stick. It usually brought him back into focus, but even when he got knocked for six or ended up laying someone out on their ass he still felt a little above it. Maybe he should have gone nomad, or stayed Tacoma, or or or.

"He needs an old lady," he overheard Gemma announcing to Jax one day, undoubtedly about him. Or maybe about Happy, but he ignored it either way.

He got what she meant, in a way; everybody needed someone to ground them, like Gemma grounded the whole damn club. It would be nice, he mused, as a sweetbutt rubbed herself up on his knee, cooing over his black eye, hands all on him. It was nice, and he lost himself in her for a while, but the party ended and she went home.


	2. Chapter 2

"We need a faster turnover," Jax demanded. Uncharacteristically, it was a little forceful for him; maybe he could see the tidal wave of bullshit coming, about to tow him under.

Delfino blinked.

"Um, yes," he said, then looked down at his papers. All numbers, but it meant something to him. He sighed, then looked back up. "Alright," he said again.

Nobody else moved, scared to in case they broke the spell holding back his usual relentless chatter.

"If you want a faster turnover," he started, picking up his papers then putting them down again. "Why not just approach someone directly, right? Ask them if they'll pull horses, make your bets in real time on the track, right? Make lay bets, or if they know the DRF well enough, make show bets. You know? It's faster turnover, straight with a trainer. Not that you can trust them."

Jax thought about saying that they barely trusted _him_ , and anyone else would probably be an upgrade. He leaned forward.

"So have a trainer pull horses, make 'em lose? You know any trainers like this?" He waved his hand at the other bikers in the room, Happy leaning against the beige wall, Tig opening and closing his filing cabinets like he would find anything but numbers in there. "We ride Harleys, not horses, so we don't have the connections you do," Jax added, not that he needed to. It was obvious, but maybe Delfino would respond to a bit of flattery. He probably didn't get much.

"I know one that might be open to it," he pondered, lighting up a cigarette. Happy narrowed his eyes at that, a subtle gesture to anyone else, but Jax knew it meant he was getting close to putting out the bookie's cigarette on his face. The room stank, like stale smoke and sweat. Even more than the clubhouse, which said something.

"Michael O'Hallan," Delfino said, after taking several puffs in quick succession, like he had to build up to saying the name. "He's broke, hasn't got a winner in ages. Desperate for cash. He'll take a low percentage, too, he's that broke, right?"

And that was that. Jax was glad they got away from Delfino in only thirty-five minutes, which had to be a record for that particular relationship. He'd agreed to reach out to this trainer O'Hallan, since he knew him, and set up a meeting.

Only, of course, it never happened like that. When Jax heard that voice over the phone, nasally indignant, he rolled his eyes.

"-right across the room, right! He just walloped me straight in the eye! The absolute fucking nerve of it, after I told him that he might be a little _grateful_ for the chance to make some cash, right!"

Jax was perfectly able to imagine how that went down, and couldn't help feeling smug the bookie got punched across a room, even if it did screw up their chances. The phone was on speaker, and everyone looked a little deflated that they weren't the ones to do it, or that they didn't get to see it. Delfino had that effect.

Hearing him pause for breath, undoubtedly to light a cigarette, Jax cut him off. "So is there anything we can do to change his mind?" The implication was heavy, Vince didn't need to hunt for it.

"No-o," he eventually said, after a short pause. "Um, no. Not right yet. Maybe something you can do first? Go to his place, I'll text you the address, right, ask for Charlie Vaughn, his jockey and Head Lad. I think that's your best in, yeah? Apparently wages haven't been paid for a while, he's that broke, so maybe his staff, right? Charlie Vaughn, the jockey. Charlie might not even take a percentage, just the winners. It's that bad."

Jax didn't particularly care how bad 'it' was, but was already making vague hand gestures at the club, which they somehow interpreted.

It was how Kozik ended up on his bike, following Jax and Happy, the club as a whole having decided to keep Tig away from anything to do with interacting with horses, for now. Kozik was watching the road, watching how civilization slowly left them, until they were flicking past green fields and brown fences, houses one to every mile or so.

NAPA DOWNS RACING was painted neatly on a wooden sign arching over a drive, which curved through green fields dotted with horses. Low-slung green stables were up the drive, a white house further beyond them. The drive and area in front of the stables was paved, which is where they parked their bikes and got off, but Kozik noticed paths to and from the fields, curving behind the building and beyond to where they couldn't see, were all dirt. It was rustic, simple. Nice.

Jax poked his head into the doorway to the stables, rapping sharply on the wooden side. Nobody answered. They wandered through, realising the stables were built like a square, and they were standing in the middle in an open courtyard. A couple horses hung their heads out over their stall doors, watching them idly, but most of them were empty. Water was running somewhere.

"Hey," Kozik heard Jax say, turning to see a redheaded girl poking her head out of a doorway. She was cute, curvy, short, filled out her jeans nicely. She was dressed practically, which he liked, and she smiled warmly, which he liked more.

"We're looking for Charlie, he around?" Jax asked.

"Charlie?" The girl asked, looking confused before she came over to them, wiping her hands on the seat of her jeans.

"Yeah, Charlie, the jockey," Jax said, puffing up a little like he was going to intimidate this girl who didn't even reach his shoulder. "We've got to talk business with him."

The ginger seemed to catch on, and Happy rolled his eyes a little. Dumb bitches, you shouldn't need to say things twice to them.

"Oh, Charlie, right," she said vaguely, before checking her watch. "You're like four hours too late, we ride out at 6 AM, but they should be back soon from the last lot," she said, then smiled at them. "I'm Clover," she announced, before ducking back in to the room she came from.

"They'll be back soon, you can just wait," they heard from inside the room. Kozik exchanged a look with Happy, both already bored of this. A Mexican boy, skinny and pushing a wheelbarrow came into the yard, glanced at them, then scurried out again. A horse snorted, the water kept running.

It seemed like they were only waiting a few minutes, hearing Clover thump around and the low chatter of a radio she had turned on, before a clip clop of hooves echoed up into the yard.

Kozik caught his breath as he turned to look, watching the riders come in. There were three of them, and each was a girl more gorgeous than the last; Clover had been cute, but obviously they just got better and better. Two of the girls were chattering, their horses steaming and dripping, giggling in the way girls do, flipping their shining hair over their shoulders and texting simultaneously. The last was stunning, faint-making; Kozik couldn't help but stare. She was utterly detached, cool as ice as she surveyed them; her cheeks were flushed pink from exertion and her brown hair was escaping from its braid under her helmet. She swung off, and Kozik checked her out standing up, not able to help himself and not willing to anyways. She was tall, taller than the others at any rate, who seemed to be all pipsqueaks. She was saluki-slender, but filled out the seat of her jeans nicely, he noticed as she turned to fiddle with her horse's bridle.

"That's Charlie," Clover announced as she came over, helping the other girls, making them giggle as they looked over at the bikers.

"It's Charlotte, but I go by Lottie, actually," she said over her shoulder. "Charlie's on the Jockey Club papers."

Jax didn't miss a beat, but Kozik grinned when he realised Clover was having them on, playing into their misconception. Saucy girl. He tossed her a wink when he noticed her watching them, and she laughed.

"We're talking to you now, actually," Jax said, coming up to her and looming over like he was going to muscle the racehorse out of the way.

Lottie stopped, looking at them. Kozik caught her eyes- blue, he noticed, nice- and smirked a little when she looked away then darted her eyes back.

"Ok," she said, looping the reins over an arm and folding them across her chest as she turned to look at them. "What are we talking about then?"

Kozik sauntered over, curious to get closer to her. Jax backed down a little bit, seeing she wasn't about to be combative; he still erred on the side of force and intimidation, struggling sometimes a bit with how to step into Clay's shoes.

She kept darting little glances at Kozik as Jax talked, nervously leaning away from him, into the horse. He wanted to reach out and touch her, see if she'd flinch away nervously just like the horse was, and grinned at the thought.

"We've heard your trainer, O'Hallan, isn't doing too well. We want to go into business with someone, help us both out. If you start throwing races, we'll cut you in. It's a smart move," Jax was saying.

"No," Lottie said immediately, surprising them. Kozik was surprised, she was just a slip of a thing, he thought she'd be bullied over pretty easily.

"I'm not throwing races, now or ever, and Michael won't either," she said, defiant as she tossed her braid over her shoulder.

Jax frowned. "No? Just like that? No consideration?" He said, inwardly thinking of how many ways he was going to punch that little shit Delfino.

"No, just like that, no consideration," Lottie answered, shrugging.

The other girls giggled in the background, dispersing with saddles in hand, leaving only the horses, the Sons, and Lottie.

Jax and Happy were already slouching out, Jax making a promise that they'd be back and she'd better think about it. Kozik wasn't in any hurry to leave just yet, and offered the girl a smile.

"Don't worry about them," he said to her, and her eyes darted to him, darted away, darted back.

"I won't," she agreed, giving him a little smile, leading her horse away. Maybe she put a little extra swing in her hips, responding to Kozik, and he smirked again for the thought of it before following the guys, already impatient to go.

"C'mon, were you fucking the bitch or what back there?" Happy rasped at him, but Kozik just grinned in answer.

"Must be the first time you two have heard 'no' in a while," he jabbed right back, following them out. They'd be back, he knew, and he might stop by even if they wouldn't be.


	3. Chapter 3

"So this little cunt said no," Tig drawled, taking a long puff on a cigar. "This is why you don't talk business with women, they get too emotional with the hormones and shit," he added.

Happy nodded sagely. Tig had two daughters, he'd know.

Clay grimaced as he mulled over the options. He could go round and intimidate the jockey, knock her around a little bit, convince her that pulling her horses was in her best interest. From how Jax described it the place was rural, nobody around, especially no men. Some of the boys wouldn't like that though, beating on a woman, even if she was doing a man's job.

Kozik knew what Clay was leaning towards, but his stomach still lurched a little when Clay announced, "Maybe go change her mind a little, Tig?" He thought back to the girls, all giggles and petite hands petting their horses, kissing them on the noses, hip-bumping each other and singing to the radio. He thought of Lottie's achingly pretty face, her slim little torso like a birdcage, and the thought of having to plow his fist into it made something twist up inside him, uncomfortable with the idea. Some of his brothers didn't mind smacking a girl around a little, but all this girl did was tell them no, and if a woman didn't feel like she could say no and have it heard then she'd start getting real creative about making you listen.

He was relieved when Opie shook his head a little. "That ain't right, Clay," he said, and Chibs nodded in agreement.

"We could go after the trainer, O'Hallan," Kozik suggested. He was good at fighting, and knew they were scary as fuck; he didn't have a problem beating the shit out of a dude. Laying hands on a woman was too much for him though.

"Aw, you just want to eyefuck the little bitches again," Happy grumbled.

Clay pounced on the easy out, glad he wouldn't have to divide his members up with another unpopular decision.

"Alright," he agreed. "Kozik, Chibs, Happy, Jax- get out there. Change his mind. Don't come back until the answer is yes."

With the decision made, they got up to leave, but Tig complained "So I don't get to go touch these girls yet? What the hell, guys?"

X

When they pulled back up to the stables, they still looked just as run-down but a little more lively this time. Clover, another girl, and the Mexican boy were sat on the ground, country music playing from a radio. They were drinking beer and shooting the shit as they cleaned tack, one girl sweeping in the background and singing into her broom like a microphone. They were all apparently a lot more relaxed with the sun setting on a Friday evening. Clover even smiled at them in recognition, but she didn't get up.

"Look, it's the bad boys again," she said, making the Mexican boy sing the Cops theme song quietly, almost indecipherable under his heavy accent. The other girls giggled, one flicking him with water from her sponge, the other drawling "Aww, shut up Jose, come take the broom if you want to sing!"

Jax flashed his charming grin at Clover, who blushed enticingly. Gosh they were hot, and she was even more charmed when Chibs spoke in his heavy Scottish accent, "We're here to speak to Michael O'Hallan, love."

"Oh good," she joked, "I thought you wanted a second date with Lottie. He's in the house, probably the office. Go around the back." She pointed vaguely at the house with the hand not holding a saddle, dripping water across the concrete.

They followed her directions, wandering around the side of the stables, following the path. There was a pool full of algae, and flowerbeds that looked like they hadn't had TLC in this lifetime. More paint was peeling off this side of the house, but the setting sun cast a flattering glow over everything.

Jax knocked on the back door, and stepped back when a second floor window flew open.

"What the fuck d'yous want?" A voice shouted, heavy with an Irish brogue. A handsome man, dark haired with stubble, poked his head out of the window and eyed them.

"Are you Michael O'Hallan?" Jax shouted back up.

The man shaded his eyes against the sun, squinting down at them, before slamming the window shut.

They exchanged looks, before much thumping and shouting was heard inside the house. O'Hallan opened the door, still hollering at someone inside.

"-nd the forms are due in tomorrow at noon so fucking get it done tonight, I've got to talk to these lads, what can I do for you boys?" He boomed, not adjusting his volume when he changed audience.

He stepped back from the door, letting them into a messy, chaotic room; a desk groaning under the weight of loose papers was shoved to one side, a table stacked with binders on the far wall. A kitchen was visible through the archway at the end of the room, a lurcher in a dog basket leaning up against the Aga oven thumped his tail at them but didn't bother moving. The walls were crowded with photographs of horses: horses galloping past the finish post, horses flying over steeplechase hurdles, horses swathed in floral blankets in the winner's circle while owners held up shiny silver trophies. The trophy cabinet in one corner, though, was noticeably empty.

"We wanted to talk to yo-" Jax started, but was cut off when O'Hallan said "Are you the fuckin' lads who came 'round my yard few days ago and tried to tell my fuckin' jockey to throw her races?"

"Yes," Jax answered without missing a beat, making Chibs tilt his head back and laugh.

"You can get the fuck back on yer bikes and go home if yous just going to ask me the same thing, I told that grass Delfino to keep his bright ideas to himself and I'll tell it to yous too," he announced, collapsing into an aging sofa and thumping his booted feet up on to the coffee table, piled high with copies of racing magazines.

"No, we just wanted to ask yo-" Jax tried again, but was immediately cut off by O'Hallan continuing, "I'm not about to sell out the last of my reputation, on my word, just t'go into business with a bunch of shady fuckers. No offense," he added, making Kozik grin.

"None taken," Jax said, shrugging. "You're broke though," he added, and it wasn't a question. Michael nodded.

"I am," he agreed, suspicious.

"We can help," Jax started, sitting into an armchair across from him. "Better to work with some shady fuckers now and get back on your feet, right?" He hazarded, watching Michael's reaction.

He scowled, but seemed to consider it.

"I need more hosses," he announced. "You lads know that fokker Cacuzza?" His Irish accent butchered the name. "He's bad news, just like you lot are bad news, so surely you know each other."

Chibs was laughing, and wanted to prove him wrong, but admitted "Aye, we know Jimmy," making O'Hallan clap his hands, pleased with his deduction.

"He's got a lot of hosses, ones he don't mind losing because he's a slimy grass anyways and pulling the same silliness you lads are looking to pull," O'Hallan said, and Jax was starting to see why he was going broke and had a distinct lack of clients. "If you can get him to bring his hosses here, for me to train, I'll do it."

Jax leaned back, grinning in victory. "Deal," he said, mind already three steps ahead. Cacuzza would be easy, but then they'd have to cut him in on it too. This was getting complicated, but he liked this man, and the thrill of a new scheme always gave him a bit of a buzz.

"LOTTIE," O'Hallan suddenly shouted loudly, making Kozik jump.

"Yeah?" came the answer on cue, from a different room.

"You riding a mob horse this weekend? Are you going to pull him?" O'Hallan kept shouting, apparently perfectly happy to communicate at top volume without bothering to go to the next room.

There was a thump of boots crossing the floor, accompanied by the sound of dog paws skittering across tile. Lottie appeared in the doorway, shirt smeared with dirt and horse slobber, a bit of hay twisted into her ponytail accidentally. The lurcher from the kitchen twined around her legs longingly, snaking his long nose against her hips.

Lottie's eyes lighted on Kozik, and she immediately blushed. Fuck's sake, they were back, and she looked like reheated shit after riding out three lots morning and afternoon. The blonde one was seriously hot, all ink and leather and charming smile; he had some killer blue eyes too. She was used to jockeys, and it had been a while since she'd seen anything but their scrawny asses or corpulent owners at the races. He was nothing like them, solid muscle, and she remembered she barely came up to his shoulder. She felt a flash of heat, and tried her best to ignore him; looking at the others but then letting her eyes skim over them when she remembered who they were. Gangsters, outlaw bikers; best not to look too long or get involved, even though it seemed Michael was making that choice for her.

"I don't need to," she admitted, and she was entirely too conscious of how the blonde one was looking at her, up and down, like she was some kind of treat in her taped-up riding boots and stained jeans. "He's going to lose anyways, they offered me the ride on the worst fucking horse in their yard, if I had known I'd never have taken it," she finished.

She knew she was acting like a mare around a stallion, skittish and afraid and excited all at the same time, but she couldn't help herself. He was a lot of man, and he exuded a masculine presence that frightened her slightly, made her tummy lurch.

"Well then!" Michael clapped his hands, bringing their attention back to him. "First bet of our relationship, lads! My jockey is going to lose this race for you!"

"I'm not going to lose it," Lottie protested, as Jax got up to clap Michael on the shoulder and shake his hand, a sign of business done. "The stupid useless horse is going to lose it, don't blame me." She turned to go back into the kitchen, idly petting the dog, when a hand in her hair stopped her.

Kozik had idly plucked the piece of hay out of her pony tail, and grinned when she turned to look at him accusingly. He knew he was laying it on thick, but he was half hard just at looking at her; half wild and dirty. She was raw, he liked that, and it had been a while since he felt such an instant draw to someone.

"I'm Kozik," he said, holding her eyes and giving her another of his charming smiles. He offered her the piece of hay from her hair, and she took it with narrowed eyes. He caught her hand when she did so; she had calluses, from working with the horses he assumed, and dirt was under her fingernails. The hand was still delicate, and his larger one dwarfed it; she looked startled when she tried to jerk it out of his grasp and he didn't let her.

"Thanks in advance," he said eventually, her blue eyes wide like a kitten's, clearly off-balance.

"Um," she said, looking down at their hands, and he let her yank hers away. She seemed to come back to herself, and rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm going on the winner next time," she declared, spinning around and disappearing back into the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday at Golden Gate Fields dawned watery and slow; the stable blocks, however, were already a hive of activity. Lottie was crouched in the wood shavings of a spare stall of the C block, where Napa Downs' sole horse was stabled for the weekend. She could hear the scrape of pitchforks and the sound of food buckets being filled; leaning her head against the rough wooden wall of the empty stable, she swore to herself, then puked again.

Every race day was like this for her; she put a lot of pressure on herself, knowing that every single ride counted in the effort to build her career. She was perversely glad she had the earlier race on Twill Do, the ill-fated mob horse destined to lose; if not by the hand of the mob, then surely by his innate lack of talent. It would take her mind off her later race, the big stakes of the afternoon, the one she really wanted to win- not only for herself, but for Michael, who'd need the $50,000 awarded to the winning owner and trainer.

A blonde head popped over the wooden half door, and darling little Taggie was smiling down at her. The youngest stable lad on the farm at 17, she had a heavy Irish accent and arrived at 15 out of the blue with a shipment of Irish hunters to be turned into timber racers. None of the horse's microchips matched up to the sales papers, and if that hadn't clued Lottie in to Michael being in some shady business, the sweet Irish teenager who was being harboured at his yard definitely had. She was so charming and enthusiastic, though, that nobody could hold anything against her; she worked hard and had the face of an angel to boot.

"There y'are," Taggie said, leaning over the stable door, balancing her weight and tipping forward so she hung off of it. She idly watched Lottie throw up into the shavings, chattering the while.

"I heard Michael talkin' on the phone to those bikers, you know the fit ones? I was sneakin' in to the kitchen to get some ice cream last night, and he said they're turnin' up today, the blonde one's half in love with you, the way he stares after you, so if he comes you've seriously got to win today. Yer so lucky, our colours really suit you, but I'll keep a tube of mascara in my pocket so you can swipe some on before you get your photo taken in the winners' circle," she tittered, over the sound of Lottie retching. She handed her a water bottle when she was finished, which Lottie sipped.

Ignoring the comment about Kozik being in love with her- teenage girls weren't too up on the difference between love and lust, after all- she croaked "Thanks Tag, want to lead me in?" She had expected the Sons to turn up today, knowing their money was on the line; she had a job to do, and couldn't let it distract her.

Taggie lit up. "Oh do I! Yes please Lottie, I bought this fab new t shirt at the weekend, royal blue like our colours so we'll both look good in the photographs tomorrow. The racing paps are all here, so use my eyeliner before you go out," she added, dropping back off the door and drifting away.

Lottie slumped back over into the shavings with a groan.

X

Lottie always felt that Golden Gate Fields was a bit of a claustrophobic race track, with its towering stand on one side and sweeping hill crowded with houses looming over the other. The more people piled in as the morning wore on, though, the more panicked she felt.

At least Clover, Jose, Taggie and the others were excited. Yesterday, true to their word, a trailer with three of Jimmy Cacuzza's horses arrived. One was Twill Do, the horse she was riding later, who was slightly pigeon toed and had a neck that looked like it was put on upside down. He was faster than he looked, but not by much; he had already won the loyalty and admiration of the yard by biting Michael when he pronounced him "fokkin' ugly, mind". Those three horses alone represented several thousand each month for Michael regardless of whether or not they won, which meant they all got their wages for the last two months and horse feed for the next six weeks. There was the promise of five more coming, which had everyone abuzz. It was premature but Jose had even started re-painting some of the peeling walls on the stables, in case potential new owners wanted to see the yard after Jimmy's started bringing in wins again.

She was sharing a cigarette with Clover behind the stands before her first ride to quell her nerves, glumly studying the race card while the early races went on. A massively promising ex-hunter named Derry Playboy had been flown over for the American season, which Lottie reckoned would win. He was being ridden by a jockey nicknamed 'Killer' Wells, who had frequent bans for excessive use of the whip, but even Lottie couldn't deny that he could get the very last ounce out of his horses.

Clover was offering her a running commentary on the people coming in to the track to distract her. It wasn't as glam a crowd as would turn up on a Saturday, so there were lots of families, punters, techies looking for some expensive fun. No big hats or sundresses today, which meant she almost didn't notice the Sons until they were nearly past them and through the entrance.

"Shit," she grumbled, right as Clover called out a "Hello boys!" and waved to them. Lottie smacked her on the side, giving her a look as Kozik, Tig, and Chibs hopped the white barrier separating the entrance queue. Clover grinned and shrugged to her, making Lottie scowl and light another cigarette as the boys approached. More leather-clad bikers were going into the stands, but the three in front of her were enough to put Lottie on edge.

"Shit, darlin', these boys have been keeping me away from you, what's your names?" Tig drawled, giving Clover a lechy grin. He looked a bit slimy to her, but she rolled with it, answering "Clover" with a bat of her eyelashes and offering him her hand to shake. He kissed it gently, making her giggle before she shook Chibs' hand.

Tig turned to Lottie, eyes roving her up and down in her little tank top and leggings, shifting from foot to foot in her flip flops. He ignored Clover's frantically waving hand making the universal 'stop' gesture behind Lottie's back as he leaned over her, saying "And this must be our cowgirl for today, how're you, darlin?"

He loomed in to kiss her cheek, and Chibs and Kozik fell apart laughing when Lottie jumped back and snarled "Fuck off," before flicking her cigarette ash at him and slinking a few yards away to smoke in peace, her back turned to them resolutely.

"Sorry," giggled Clover anxiously. "Lottie gets nervous and worked up. Don't try to talk to her," she warned Kozik as he made to go over, but he shrugged her off and went over anyways.

"You alright there babe? You're looking a little pale," Kozik said, but didn't reach out to touch her hunched, bony shoulder, even if he wanted to.

Lottie turned her head and offered him a flat smile as he stood in front of her. She didn't want to talk about herself and her pre-race jitters, so she gathered herself and gave him a genuine, small smile.

"Listen, thanks for bringing Jimmy's horses in," she said, making Kozik raise his eyebrows. "Seriously. It helped us out, a lot."

"Don't thank us too soon," Kozik warned, pleased at her gratitude and her sweet little smile.

"No, seriously, thank you," Lottie said, surprising both him and herself by wrapping one arm around his waist in a brief hug. He felt all muscley and solid underneath her arm, and she got a quick flash in her stomach that had nothing to do with her nerves.

She had released him before he had time to draw her in closer, flickering her cigarette butt away as a 'ding, dong' over the loudspeaker sounded and Clover called for her.

"C'mon, time to weigh in," a track official said to them from his post by the gates.

"Go make us proud, love, sort of," Chibs said, clapping both girls on the shoulder as they passed, their heads already ducked together.

"What, I don't get a hug too?" Tig called petulantly after them as they disappeared around the corner, arms spread open like he was personally insulted. Kozik smacked him upside the head as he followed Chibs into the stands, searching for the rest of his brothers.

"Don't fucking touch her again," he warned, his tone low. Tig did a double take; the territorial attitude took him by surprise.

"Christ," Tig muttered to himself. "What a pack of moody fucking bitches around here."

X

The Sons were having an absolute ball at the races. Clay sat at in the Owners and Trainers Bar with O'Hallan, who was talking him through the race going on the track below. He had explained to him beforehand how to place a lay bet, or bet that a horse wouldn't finish; he pointed out Lottie in Cacuzza's colours, trying her little heart out on a dark chestnut horse that was trying _his_ little heart out. The bar had an atmosphere a bit like an airport waiting lounge- there were quiet lulls were everyone was scrupulously watching, then a minute or two of frenetic activity while bets were re-laid and they charged in and out.

Chibs, Tig, and Juice were engaged in trying to meet each other shot for shot, loudly disrupting the atmosphere of the bar, earning dirty looks from the men who were engrossed in the race and scribbling down notes on the race card. Clover always called them the gin-n-outs; they came to the bar, drank gin and tonics and scrupulously watched their race, then disappeared as soon as it was over.

When Twill Do and Lottie crossed the finish line in the middle of the pack, Clay nodded and clapped his hand on O'Hallan's shoulder, nearly rattling the much smaller man off his seat.

X

The parade ring was filling slowly as the horses circled, owners clustered in tight circles in the middle, trainers hyping up jockeys and talking tactics. Kozik leaned against the dividing rail, not able to help himself as he searched for Lottie when the jockeys streamed out of the weighing in room. They really were tiny, he mused to himself with a smirk, spotting her long dark braid among the shifting kaleidoscope of silks. She was in O'Hallan's colours this race, royal blue and steel grey diamonds; she looked fierce, ferocious. O'Hallan was barking instructions at her relentlessly as he legged her up onto her horse, an undersized grey named Unlucky in Love; as soon as she was on she seemed to tune him out. Clover had come out of the throng in the circle and leaned against the rail to join them.

A fetching blonde girl was smiling shyly at the spectators as she led Lottie's horse round, blushing daintily at the wave of wolf whistles and "good luck"s she and Lottie got. Men were all of a sudden straightening their ties and smoothing down their hair; Kozik felt a fierce, proud twinge as Lottie just looked straight through them all as if they weren't there. His girl was stone cold.

"If I'd of known the crumpet at races was this good I'd have come years ago, she's an angel," Chibs said from next to him, drawing on a cigar and watching Taggie circle closer with a hunger in his eyes. She was still doing sweet, shy little smiles for the press cameras snapping the racers, until a jockey made kissing noises at her while a priest delivered last rites to his horse, as was traditional for the Irish runners.

"Come bless me, sweet Taggie," he cried, his lilting Irish brogue musical, and there was a wave of laughter as the little blonde whirled around, brandishing her mare's lead rope like a weapon, and snarled "Get stuffed, Emmett Walsh!"

Chibs grinned and elbowed Kozik as the girls came past, close enough that he could reach out and touch Lottie's slender booted calf, her knees nearly bent double in the tiny little jockey saddle.

"As if I'd bloody _ever_ ," Taggie was telling Lottie lowly. "With a _Catholic_! I mean, seriously!"

"I reckon Main Liner and Top of Class will show," a punter in a baseball cap said to Clover from Kozik's other side, over the swell of chatter. "I've got them both in a pick six."

"No, it'll be Unlucky in Love," Clover was saying to the man. "Her and Derry Playboy are certs."

The man frowned, looking at his race card then comparing it with his betting slip. He quickly started changing it, handing Clover some folded bills for her tip-off, then hustled off to change his bet.

Kozik couldn't hear the rest of their conversation as the call to post rang out, and a sudden swell and movement in the crowd followed the jockeys as they left the parade ring. Soon the horses were being loaded into the starting gate, and he could hear the shouts of the loaders and the metal doors clanging shut.

"I'm going middle inner," announced the jockey next to Lottie.

"I'm going to make all," she replied, while Emmet Walsh, the young conditional jockey, said "I'm going to be sick."

"I'm going to win," declared Killer, then she could think of nothing at all as the gates flew open and they were off.

Lucky jumped carefully, skimming the hedges like a swallow, picking her way up through the barging, galloping horses. The thunder of hooves was all around her, dirt flying up from the leaders, swearing jockeys being unshipped from their mounts and tumbling to the ground.

The adrenaline coursed through her ears as she pushed Lucky up the inner, carefully carefully, choosing her gaps over the fences. She tried to keep her weight moving with the mare, her hands shoved forward to her flattened ears, urging her on; the corners came too quickly, and soon she was level with Playboy, the leader.

Killer turned to see her, said "What the fuck are you doing here!" and went to his whip. Lottie waited as he pulled away, then scooted up his inside on the final corner; her brave little mare flattened her ears at the other horse and dug deep to fling herself ahead over the last jump. She landed wisely, while Playboy had picked a poor takeoff and got left a length behind.

"Go on girl!" He called from behind her as Lucky flew forward past the finishing post.

Lottie took her time pulling up, her heart hammering in her ears and her breath coming in great gasps; it was then that the cheering of the crowd hit her like a sledgehammer.

" _Yes!_ " she shrieked, punching her fist in the air in victory and flinging her whip away into the crowd. Taggie was running towards her, ecstatic; flinging a bucket of cool water over the gasping Lucky, patting her then clipping on her headcollar to lead her in.

True to her word, she scrabbled into her pocket and pulled out a tube of mascara, then yanked Lottie's arm until she leaned her face down level. Tugging her goggles down around her neck, Taggie swiped some on, somehow managing to artfully smudge it while jogging alongside Lucky.

X

LADIES FIRST! Shouted the headline on the racing section the next day, a flattering photo of pretty Taggie ecstatically throwing her arms around Lucky's neck while Lottie grinned with her face splattered with mud leading the coverage. A smaller photo of O'Hallan hoisting a silver plate was printed below.

One of the boys had left it open on the bar in the clubhouse, and Gemma studied it with pursed lips. It was unusual reading material for the Sons, but Clay had told her enough to figure out that these were their new business partners.

"Kozik's taken a liking to her," Clay murmured from behind her, burying his nose in her neck and slipping his arms around her waist.

"Which one? The little barbie doll teenager?" She asked, leaning back into his arms.

Clay snorted, then kissed underneath her ear, the spot that still made her shiver after all these years.

"Not that one, the jockey. She's pretty underneath all the mud," he said. "And she's good as her word."

"Is that so?" Gemma asked wryly, turning and quirking an eyebrow dangerously.

"Mm-hmm," Clay nodded, brushing aside the neckline of her shirt to see his crow stamped across her chest.

Gemma pursed her lips again, thinking, manipulating. Clay knew that look.

"See if she'll come to family dinner," she said, a dangerous little smile crossing her face.


End file.
